


Indecent Proposal

by Fantine_Black



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Begging, Commitment, Credence Barebone Deserves Better, Dom Original Percival Graves, Dom/sub Play, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Marriage Proposal, No Aftercare, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Protective Credence Barebone, Sex Work, Smitten Original Percival Graves, Sub Credence Barebone, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 04:16:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19201711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantine_Black/pseuds/Fantine_Black
Summary: Percival Graves is a longstanding member of Hestia Associates, one of New York's finest domestic societies. The subs here are well trained, well groomed and well protected, and both Dom and sub find refuge from the outside world, if only for a few hours.Still, the outside has a way of getting in...





	Indecent Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I get when I try to write a bit of domestic fluff - a teary wtf?! at a story that just wants to hurt me. And possibly you. I'm sorry. This went places it was not supposed to go. Nothing too explicit, but. 
> 
> Now, if you like that sort of thing *sniffs*, happy reading!

He smiles at Tina. ‘Good evening, Goldstein.’

‘Mr. Graves,’ her smile is winning, and that is a rare thing – she’s not the type of Domme who feels the need to be ingratiating. All business, and he likes that, in establishments such as these even more so. Her sister, all frills, manages to be welcoming without somehow feeling tacky. No, he’s never regretted his membership at Hestia Associates, not in the least today.

‘Any changes to the contract?’

At this she nearly smirks. ‘Not since our – ’ and here she checks her watch, ‘7.30 confirmation e-mail. Unless, of course, you wish to renegotiate your side.’

He frowns. ‘Tina, really, we know his situation. How is he doing?’

‘If you must know, he’s had his first ever cavity this week. A very small one – ’ she continues before he’s had the words out, ‘and he’s been brushing every six seconds. His teeth are somewhat weakened, as it stands.’

He tenses. ‘All the more reason to – ’

‘Prolonged malnutrition is not a condition we usually encounter.’ A shadow falls across her face. ‘His protocols have since been updated, and he is receiving our premium care.’

He lifts his chin. ‘Hestia is not known for negligence, Goldstein.’

‘Indeed not.’ She looks him in the face. ‘And Headquarters will probably argue we are not the negligent party. I will, of course, assist you in filing the complaint, should you choose to.’ Then she snorts. ‘Well, Queenie will.’

He looks up at the cameras. ‘You will confirm he is not in any pain?’

She glances up too. ‘None whatsoever.’ She pauses. ‘Although you, too, are obliged to check.’

‘I certainly will.’ He softens. ‘Safety first, Goldstein, you will agree.’

She nods. ‘Thank you for your concern, Mr. Graves, as ever. Do you have any special requests regarding this session?’ 

He shakes his head. ‘None.’ He glances sideways. ‘Why?’ He would have had to indicate that on the appointment form, which Tina very well knows.

‘Just a hunch.’ She rings a bell, and Queenie promptly appears. ‘Suite 2, Director, if you’re ready.’

He looks at Tina. ‘I didn’t book a suite.’

Queenie’s eyes twinkle. ‘Pardon me, Director, but your loyalty credit was due to expire last week. As we didn’t hear back, Credence suggested the upgrade.’

 _Good boy,_ Percival thinks, and feels himself blush. ‘Thank you,’ he says, and relishes Queenie’s happy grin. ‘That was good of you both.’ He’ll check with his girl, Lavender, though she may have found the subject too delicate to press. There are, he keeps insisting, rather more urgent matters – any problem that goes away simply by throwing money at it is seldom worth his time; besides, this is personal.

Deeply personal. 

They arrive at the stairs and he has to resist the urge to rush ahead and put himself in front of her. He doesn’t like any sub facing open territory head on, though he knows in his brain, where his thoughts live rather than his instincts, that this is ridiculous. He is her guest and this is as good as her home – he isn’t about to insult her Domme by implying this isn’t a safe space, not twice in one hour.

Queenie winks at him, and gives him a good long look at her ass – the type to enjoy impact play, he knows from experience. Little minx. They had a few good sessions, and she is a lovely little kitten, but he is rather too stern for her; she always left their meetings both better behaved and slightly subdued. He is not one to enjoy dimming a sub’s spark, however unintentionally, so now they mostly stick to dinner. Still, he is fond on her – few members aren’t – and she, too, seems to genuinely enjoy his company.

She respectfully steps back after leading him to his suite, but is bold enough to pluck a stray thread from his shoulder.

‘Happy birthday, Mr. Graves.’

He strokes her cheek. ‘Thank you, sweetheart. You be a good girl tonight, yes?’

She winks. ‘Fifth night’s the charm.’ Then she looks down. ‘Enjoy your evening, Director.’

‘And you. I’ll see you at checkout.’

She nods. ‘Sir.’

She waits for him to knock, and then disappears at the sound of a young man’s voice:

‘Yes, please?’

Graves anchors himself, firm on the ground. A faint rustling sound and yes – could the boy already be kneeling? He feels power surge through him at the very thought.

And o – the opulence.

It’s an old fashioned sitting room – bookcases, fireplace, the whole nine yards, a long, perfectly laid table, the smell of cooked food, bouillabaisse, a nice touch, and–

His darling, straight backed, resting lightly on his heels, palms on his thighs. He’s wearing white tie, the angel, slips folded neatly back so Percival can’t see his feet, still, he can see the dress shoes put discreetly at the side, so as not to damage them by kneeling. Head inclined – very slightly - in greeting, eyes away, a smile at the corners of his mouth. Credence never looks at him until formally acknowledged, and Graves does no longer press the issue, as formality seems to comfort him. His stance is proud, though, no sign of slumping or self-abasement. He has been filling out, the razor sharp lines softened, his pallor more aristocratic than sickly. The soft locks of his hair starting to curl.

‘Good evening, Credence.’

‘Good evening, Percival.’

He blushes, still, at the use of the name, but Graves had insisted on it. A way to bring him a little closer without completely doing away with the rigidity the boy was used to. It made sense for Percival to be granted some familiarity, a reprieve from the trappings of society, at Hestia, he’d explained – or else why come?

The fact that this seems new to Credence tugs at Graves’ heartstrings.

He has to restrain himself, every time, from scooping Credence up and carrying him away into the safety of his bed, but that wouldn’t be fair. The boy will have spent inordinate amounts of time making certain that the room is just so, and his efforts deserve acknowledgement.

So inspect he does – the leather armchairs, the selection of drinks, the place setting, where he finds, next to his plate, a delicate flower wreath –

‘Credence –’

The boy blushes scarlet. ‘Happy birthday,’ he says, voice low and small.

He leaves the table and stand next to the cushion. ‘Cheeky boy. I told you not to get me anything.’

His eyes flit up. ‘I didn’t _buy_ it –’  

Graves cups his cheek. ‘Stand up so I can kiss you.’

He rises, o, his love, and he’s been practising, so very, very far removed from the coltish way he knelt before. Graves loved him then, he loves him now. ‘May I kiss you, Credence?’

He ducks his head. ‘Please.’

Kissing, the most ancient form of contract in existence, and it relaxes them both. Credence, claimed, if only for hours, slumps against him, breathing deeply. Graves is thrilled how the boy goes so limp against him, so many months in coming, in slowly building trust, and he savours it like fine wine.

‘Hi,’ he says stupidly as Credence smiles at him.

‘Hi, Percival,’ he answers, and that slowly creeping pink, he wants to bathe in it.

He kisses his nose. ‘Have you had lunch?’

He shakes his head. ‘Queenie brought pastries.’

Percival frowns. ‘Credence, your teeth – ’

‘It had been four hours, sir,’ he says, eyelids drooping. ‘And I flossed.’

‘Good boy,’ he says. ‘You must be hungry then.’ He looks to the table, and Credence immediately busies himself with the first course.

 _He could do this at home,_ Graves thinks idly, _in some flannel nightshirt, comfortable, close by_ –

No. If that were an option, Graves wouldn’t be here, but in that Cotswold cottage Theseus always dreamed about, Newt tucked at his feet for good measure. He sits down at the table a little more brusquely than he’d intended, giving Credence barely enough time to pull the chair back. He plays idly with the little wreath as Credence brings the soup, slips it over his palm, where it falls into place just so, like a –

‘Credence, put that soup down and come here.’

The boy startles, but Graves doesn’t change his tone. ‘Look at me, please,’ and he holds up his arm.

‘Do you have something to say about this?’

He looks, swallows, looks down. ‘I thought they were pretty.’

‘That’s not all you thought.’ A ruby encrusted choker he had stared at for a week. A matching bonding bracelet.

‘I do not like being manipulated, boy. Go to your place please and stay there until I say.’

 Credence looks heartbroken, but Graves feels justified. The boy may not have directly violated one of his hard limits, but the implication was all too clear. More importantly, it isn’t the first time they’ve discussed this.

He eats, pours himself some wine, hears Credence whimper at the missed chance to do this for him. He’s kneeling in the middle of the room again, but this time is completely slumped forward on the kneepad, all but clutching his elbows. Graves is not heartless enough to demand he correct his posture, and moreover he’s worried: Credence is not at all one to act out.

He walks over. ‘Credence,’ he says. ‘Color?’

A tear slips out from under his eyelid. ‘Yellow,’ he says, and at once, Graves is next to him on the floor. ‘Are you hurt?’ he says. At his headshake, ‘do you need to stand?’

‘No,’ he says. ‘Percival, I’m sorry –’

‘No need to apologize,’ Graves says softly. ‘It’s good of you to warn me, Credence.’

‘I’ll be good,’ he sniffles. ‘I’m sorry, Percival.’ He grabs his hand. ‘I don’t want to ruin your birthday…’

He pulls him close. ‘You are not, Credence. If there are important things to talk about, I want to do so. Always.’

He looks up. ‘You’re a client, and I’m failing – ’

‘I’m a client,’ Percival says, ‘and you’re doing what I ask.’

He crumples again. ‘I’m sorry –’

‘Shhh,’ Percival says. ‘Breathe it out, let go.’ Credence shivers against his chest. ‘If you need this to stop, say the word, Credence.’

He looks up, eyes far to wide. ‘No, I don’t want you to go. Please don’t go.’

‘I wouldn’t go,’ Percival murmurs. ‘I’d make sure you’re safe, even if it takes all night.’

Those words have rather the opposite effect from what he intended. Credence flings himself around his neck. ‘I’d be good, Percival,’ he says, ‘so good, you won’t regret –’

‘Stop,’ he says, and he works very hard to sound neutral. When the boy looks at him, eyes wet and gleaming, he says:  ‘Credence. As a bonded Dominant, guaranteeing your safety would be my absolute first responsibility.’ He takes his face in his hands. ‘And I, sweet boy – I can’t honor that.’

Credence looks down. ‘If you can’t. Who can?’

He strokes his hair. ‘You’re a dear.’ He offers his hand. ‘Come. First, we will both eat. Then, you’re going to tell me what prompted this. Color?’

‘Green.’ He smiles. ‘I’m hungry.’

Dinner is a laborious affair. Credence seems to be regressing – wolfing down his food, twisting at the slightest movements. They end up on the couch, Percival feeding him morsels of cheese. ‘Still hungry?’ he asks for the twentieth time.

‘No,’ he says eventually. ‘Thank you, Percival.’ He can’t quite meet his gaze, and Percival taps his cheek. ‘Remember to look at your partner.’ When he does, Percival pats his head. ‘Are you ready to talk about it?’

Credence nods, collects himself. ‘Chas – my sister Chastity – she’s getting married.’

Percival keeps his gaze blank. ‘Congratulations.’

Credence scoffs. ‘Yeah, I don’t know.’ Graves keeps quiet, letting the silence coax him on. ‘I mean, Ma’s not happy.’

‘She disapproves of the Dominant?’

‘No,’ he says. ‘I mean, she can’t, really. He’s the richest man in church.’

‘And your sister loves him?’

That earns him a smirk. ‘She doesn’t even love herself. But Ma’s been – Ma…’ He clings to Percival’s arm. ‘I haven’t been around much, and if Chas leaves – it’s Ma and Modesty and she’ll _hurt_ her, Mr _._ Graves.’

Such fear and such raw power in that face – Graves sits up. ‘Credence – your marrying won’t change that.’

‘Yeah, it will. Ma’s a sub. If the court calls her unfit, and Mo has a place to stay –’ He rolls off the couch and gets to his knees. ‘I love you, Percival. I’d let you do anything, anything at all I promise –’

‘Credence!’ He pushes himself up to his full height. ‘I forbid you to say something like that, to any living soul,  ever again, do you hear me?’ He grabs his chin. ‘You are not to throw your life away for any reason –’

‘Then help me,’ Credence whimpers, cowering down in full worship pose. ‘Help me, Percival – I need help - ’

‘Quiet,’ he says, and his voice is an angry hiss he immediately regrets. ‘Credence. Don’t do anything stupid, now.’

He sits up. ‘I love you, Percival,’ he says. ‘Please.’

‘I don’t,’ he says. ‘Our time is up.’ He turns around. 'Goodbye, Credence.'

His scream could cut through marble.

 


End file.
